When I Have Fears
by Gabriel Gatsby
Summary: What happened to Voldemort after he died? (Warning: character deaths)


_"You're the weak one… and you'll never know love, or friendship… and I feel sorry for you…"_ – Harry

 _"You're a fool, Harry Potter, and you will lose… everything…"_ – Voldemort

* * *

 **2 Hours, 4 Minutes, and 12 Seconds Before Death**

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

For a moment, the small clearing is lit by sickly green light, as the spell hurtles towards its target with deadly accuracy. Time seems to slow as Voldemort watches, his wand arm still outstretched, and waits for Harry Potter's infamous bravery to crumple in the face of death. He waits for him to run, to cry, to scream…

He doesn't. Without so much as a flinch, Harry closes his eyes and tilts his head back to face the clear night sky. With open arms, he welcomes his death, and there is a blinding flash of white as the curse collides with his chest.

 _A fool till the end!_

Voldemort jeers, but as the light fades, his derision quickly transforms into glee. Lying face-down in the dirt at his feet, stripped of life, is the last threat to his immortality. Without Harry Potter, the last of the Order will be forced to kneel before him. He will be unstoppable.

What begins as a thin, lipless smile soon cracks into an open grin that splits his face. Before he can stop it, laughter is bubbling up from within, and throwing his head back, he cackles at the sky. High-pitched and breathless, it sounds maniacal even to his own ears, but he doesn't stop. He revels in his own infallible power, and soon his loyal followers join in the cheer.

Servants of the Dark howl their master's success into the night, and spells rain down on them in celebration.

Harry Potter is dead, and the world shall be his.

* * *

 **3 Minutes and 11 Seconds Before Death**

Shock vies with disbelief as Harry Potter stands before him, very much _alive_. His last Horcrux is gone, and for the first time in a long time, a shameful flicker of fear ignites in his broken soul, and sears him from within.

But it matters not.

He still has the Elder Wand, and Harry Potter is still a pathetic weakling boy to be crushed beneath his unmatched power.

In unison, they raise their wands.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

Sparks of light crackle and spit as their spells connect, and the Elder Wand vibrates in his palm. His heart races and he grits his teeth as he prepares to kill Harry Potter for the very last time. Luck had brought him so far, but this would be the end.

With each renewed effort, waves of magic burst and ooze from the point at which their spells meet, and the Elder Wand begins to heat and tremble uncontrollably beneath his fingers. He pushes the magic, but in one frozen moment, the impossible happens:

It slips from between his fingers.

He opens his mouth to cry out; to scream his outrage to the skies, but his own spell has backfired in a sickening flash, and horror and fear choke him. His eyes widen infinitesimally, shock flooding his intense gaze, but he can no longer see.

" _Impossible…_ " he whispers… then darkness claims him.

* * *

 **Death**

He screams. A terrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling, murderous scream. He howls out his fury at the desolate landscape, but he is alone here, and his cries are swallowed by the endless, swirling mist that surrounds him. He burns with hatred and anger at the injustice. That a boy so insignificant could end his life.

He screams.

When he finally stops, everything hurts. He trembles, as his soul is a terrible flayed thing that cannot so much as lift its own weight. When he moves, the smooth surface he's laid on becomes smeared with his blood. He cannot sit up. He is alone.

Cool fear envelopes him as he realises this is the fate he has bought for himself. This last remaining piece of his soul will eventually perish here. He is going to die... forever.

He screams.

* * *

 **1 Year, 6 Months, 14 Days, 11 Hours, 24 Minutes and 16 Seconds After Death**

There is no time here and he does not know when it happened, but at some point, the landscape began to shift. Things took form around him, and although his vision is obscured by the blood in his eyes, he found he was watching a life pass him by.

The scenes are always smoky and ethereal; only a projection of the real world, but they are there. He knows he has no part in them, but he watches, all the same. This is his hell. Doomed for eternity to watch Harry Potter live out his success as the slayer of the Darkest Lord of all time.

He let go of anger, and began to search for a way out. Peering out from cracked lids, he watches as Harry enters the room. He walks straight past the ugly, raw and bleeding form on the floor, to where his wife stands by the stove.

In life, he might have been disgusted by the way the boy affectionately presses his lips to the crook of her filthy blood-traitor neck, while she continues to stir the pots, but he has realised everything changes with death. He has watched their interactions for so long, now, while he searched for a way out.

A way back to life.

Emotions alien to him have begun to flicker unbidden, and he finds bitter jealousy, like that he had felt as a child and stolen for, flutter in his chest. Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, living on, while he is stuck here.

He finds strength in his bones, though, that wasn't there before, and crawling across the kitchen floor on elbows and knees, he drags his pathetic form to where Harry stands. He leaves a trail of blood and decaying flesh in his wake. Upon reaching him, he collapses, and after a few moments of heaving ragged breaths into his tiny lungs, he reaches up one gnarled fist and clamps it around Harry's ankle.

Harry doesn't respond. Nothing he tries works. He cannot make an impression on this world…

It isn't his, any more.

* * *

 **8 Years, 3 Months, 5 Days, 8 Hours, 6 Minutes and 4 Seconds After Death**

It's been so long now that he's sat and watched as Harry Potter lives on, peacefully, without the ever-present threat of him in his life. He watches as the now-father bounces a mewling toddler on his knee, and focuses intently on his face.

After so many years with nothing to do but watch, obsession has set in. This man had defeated him, when he should have been the stronger of the two. He should have been unstoppable. He should have been _immortal._

Harry Potter had sent him here, and he wants to know how.

Harry chortles, as his son gurgles disgustingly.

"Harry!" someone calls from another room, and, looking down once more, he smiles.

"What have I done this time, hm?" he asks the child, but it only stares up at him with big blue eyes. He sighs. "Come on, then. Best see what your mother wants."

Watching the pair, something creeps into him that he's never felt before. He doesn't understand it, or know what it is, but somehow he knows that it is the answer. Whatever it is, Harry used it to his advantage.

Looking down at his hands, he finds they are no longer red and bloody. Smooth skin has grafted itself there, and with slow motions, he carefully finds he can pick himself up from the floor. He stretches. It still hurts, but he can walk.

* * *

 **78 Years, 2 Months, 12 Days, 4 Hours, 33 Minutes and 13 Seconds After Death**

Harry picks up his walking stick, and leaning on it heavily, makes his way out of the back door. Tom follows closely behind, and takes in the cool clear night. His body has slowly returned to him, throughout his years watching Harry, and he has become accustomed to Harry's routines.

Every once in a while, when the rest of the house is in bed, Harry takes a walk. Tom doesn't know why, but he thinks he can guess.

He walks until he's far enough from the house that he can only just still see the lights, before easing his tired old frame down onto a grassy hillock, and gazing up at the black night sky. It's littered with twinkling stars that wink down at them—another phenomenon Tom realises he has come to appreciate in death, but had no time for in life. Death is timeless and empty, but for these small moments where he can pretend he is still alive.

Tom takes a seat beside him and lies down in the grass. Tilting his head, he peers up at his greying companion, and wonders absently what will happen to him when Harry Potter dies. He supposes he will die, too. For good, this time.

The thought doesn't scare him.

* * *

 **91 Years, 8 Months, 10 Days, 6 Hours, 48 Minutes and 7 Seconds After Death**

Harry lies in bed, surrounded by his friends, family… and one enemy. Tom stands back, tucked into the farthest corner of the room. Harry trembles as he takes the hand of each in turn and bids them goodbye. His face is sunk and wrinkled, his hair grey and thin, but a smile adorns his lips and something hangs so thick in the air that the whole room seems to vibrate with it.

It makes Tom tremble, too, and he realises for the first time what it is. He feels it emanating from those around him, and it cuts him to the core.

It's love.

* * *

 **91 Years, 8 Months, 10 Days, 6 Hours, 49 Minutes and 3 Seconds After Death**

Harry's world fades away with his last breath, and Tom finds himself standing back in the empty whirling mist of so long ago. He falters, shaken and unsure, and something in his chest aches terribly. He clenches his fists, and squeezes his eyes shut. So he is still here. Stuck. Forever.

"Tom," a voice speaks behind him.

Spinning on his heel, his eyes fly open and he takes in the man before him. Messy dark hair. Glasses. Scar. Having become so accustomed to the gentle, elderly man he had spent so many nights with, to see the boy he had hated so vehemently ignites something within him that he had long-forgotten was there.

"Harry," he all but whispers. "You're young, again… What are you doing here?"

Harry chuckles, one habit he had developed in later life, and something like reassurance blossoms within him.

"If you search for imperfections, you'll find them," he jokes. A popular phrase of his wife's. Having spent so long with Harry's family, Tom suddenly feels an unwelcome pang of something scarily close to loss.

He quashes it instantly.

Harry adopts a more serious tone when he answers his question. "I'm here to collect you," he says evenly.

Tom blinks, then realises that their surroundings have changed again. They're standing in what looks a little like King's Cross Station, and a train is pulling up at their platform.

"But… I can't leave. This is my punishment."

Harry says nothing, but steps onto the train, then holds out a hand. Tom glances from the white world of the station to Harry's up-turned palm. Can he let go?

A moment later, as he steps forward, he realises he can.

* * *

 **After Life**

"Harry!" someone cries as he steps off the train and is enveloped instantly in a welcoming hug. Others join in, until he's surrounded. His mother's emerald eyes glitter with joyful tears, and his father is there, too. Other faces Tom recognises crowd round: Remus Lupin and his wife, Sirius Black, the blond boy from the graveyard. So many loved ones. He hugs each of them in greeting before turning back to Tom, who is still standing on the train, watching.

He has watched for so long.

"Harry?" his father asks, his tone deep and threatening. "What is _he_ doing here?"

"You!" his mother jumps as she catches sight of him, and then they're all turning to face him. Accusing stares and angry voices rise up. The safe haven has been breached. He should not have come.

"This is not Tom Riddle," Harry states simply, and they all turn to him. "Tom Riddle is dead," he says, and reaches out his hand once more.

Tom cannot fathom it. For a moment, it's as though they are all waiting with bated breath. Waiting to see if it's true. He locks eyes with Harry. Is it true? A pause...

Then he takes his hand.

* * *

 _"If he could only have understood the precise and terrible power of that sacrifice, he would not, perhaps, have dared to touch your blood… but then, if he had been able to understand, he could not have been Lord Voldemort, and might never have murdered at all."_ – Albus

* * *

 _Written for: 'The Quiddich League Fanfiction Competition'. Prompts:_ _Write about your OTP being negatively received by the other family members,_ _(dialogue) "What have I done this time?", (poem) 'When I Have Fears' by John Keates,_ _(quote) 'If you search for imperfections, you'll find them' - Jose Enincas_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and the quotes at the beginning and end are taken directly from the books and do not belong to me._

 _CC cover image (entitled '07.01.2012 - His Hand') courtesy of Jlhopgood on Flickr.  
_

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. This was a really tricky one for me to write, as my OTP is Tom/Harry and obviously neither of their parents are alive, and Tom gets stuck in limbo after death so I had to somehow fashion a scenario where the right characters would end up in the same place at the same time. I took some liberties with canon. Let me know what you think. Thanks. GG x


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